Chapter 18 - Everything Sad Comes Untrue

Astron 6

“Sammy, stop ninnyhammering around and plant those flowers already. Mr. Bilbo wants it done today, not next year,” Hamfast chided gently but sternly. This was the fifth time he had checked on Sam’s progress and still the lad had only a handful of the carnations in the ground.

“I’m trying Gaffy,” Sam said, “but the trowel hurts my hands.” He held up his tiny hand and showed his father the blister as proof.

“Where are the gloves I gave you?” Hamfast asked.

“They feel funny,” Sam complained. “They’re too big and they make my fingers sweat.”

Hamfast chuckled. “You’re going to have to get used to sweating if you want to be a good gardener Sammy. Here, give me that glove and trowel, and I’ll see if I can work something out.”

Hamfast disappeared into the tool shed and Sam went back to playing in the dirt. When his father returned, he found that Hamfast had cut a finger off the glove and glued it to the handle of the trowel. “See how that suits you,” he said.

Sam took the trowel and tested the handle as he had seen his father do numerous times with other tools. Then he dug a hole and planted a flower. He beamed up at his father. “I like this much better,” he declared. “Thank you Gaffy.”

Hamfast reached down and ruffled Sam’s golden-brown curls before returning to his own planting. Sam worked busily, thrilled at being able to plant a whole bed by himself. Of course, it was a small bed, and his father had already started the holes so Sam would know where to dig, but he was still doing most of the work by himself. He hummed nonsensically while he worked, delighting in the feel of the dirt beneath his hands. The trowel no longer hurt him, and he didn’t have to wear those cumbersome gloves. He smiled at the trowel, glad to have such a smart father.

Sam was nearing the end of his task when a shadow fell over him. He looked up and saw Mr. Bilbo’s young cousin Frodo standing there, observing the gardens, as had quickly become his habit over the last few weeks. Frodo was staying with Mr. Bilbo for the spring and had come all the way from Buckland, across the River itself. 

Sam had never known anyone from across the River before, nor had he ever known anyone who looked quite like young Master Frodo. Sam had never met an elf, but he imagined that if elves were as small as hobbits, that’s what they must look like: thin and fair, with dark hair and unguarded blue eyes that were older than his years. He regarded Frodo with an awed reverence and tended to get tongue-tied around the older lad, but Sam couldn’t get flustered today. He had a very important question he needed to ask Frodo, but he was still unable to begin a conversation with the lad even though it had been nearly a month since they first met.

Sam made himself as small as possible and snuck peeks at the teen as he finished the last of the planting. Then he started cleaning up as quietly and discreetly as possible, not wanting to disturb Frodo’s thoughtful observation of the gardens. He worked slowly, hoping he could delay the moment he would have to get up and search out his father. 

Finally, Frodo looked down at the tiny gardener. “Hallo Sam,” he greeted in his soft, refined accent. “Did you plant all these yourself?”

“Yes sir,” Sam answered shyly.

“You did a marvelous job. They’re lovely,” Frodo encouraged.

“Thank you,” Sam said, and smiled sweetly, getting a smile in return. He loved Frodo’s smile; it took the sadness out of his eyes. “Can you come to my birthday party?” he asked in a rush before he could chicken out.

Frodo’s easy smile turned to surprise. “I would love to, but I would not want to impose.”

“You won’t impose,” Sam assured. He didn’t know what impose meant, but he was certain that a gentlehobbit such as Master Frodo could never do that. 

“I won’t know anyone,” Frodo said, uncertainty creeping into his dazzling blue eyes.

“I’ll meet you to everyone,” Sam said, and he was so relieved that Frodo wanted to come to his party that he started yammering excitedly. “Daisy’s making the cake, and Halfred’s hiding boiled sweets in the Party Field for a hunt, and Hamson says since I’ll be turning five, I’m old enough to hand out the presents myself this year, and May has a new dress. Marigold will be there too, but she’s still a wee bairn and so she won’t be doing aught. And my best friends Tom and Robin will be there, and Tom’s ma is making pudding pie.”

“That sounds like a delightful party,” Frodo said, smiling again. It would be nice to meet more of the other childen around here. “When is it going to be?”

“Tomorrow.”

The cheer left Frodo’s eyes.

“Tomorrow,” Sam murmured, still half asleep.

Frodo stirred instantly at the sound of Sam’s voice and quickly sat up in the chair he had been dozing in. He realized the error in this when his ribs protested the sudden movement after resting so uncomfortably all night long. Frodo stretched slowly, ignoring the discomfort as best he could and returned his attention to his friend.

Frodo had arrived the evening before to find the Gamgees and the older Cotton children sitting around the kitchen table, exhausted and discussing their next step. Tom was figuring out what to put in the letter to Hamson. As Sam’s eldest brother did not read, the post messenger would have to read the letter for him, and they did not want to put too much personal information into it. Something simple and direct should be enough. Just the fact that Sam wanted to stay in Tighfield for a time would let his brother know the urgency of the situation.

Frodo had created quite a stir when he entered the smial after Marigold. He paused only long enough to greet everyone before going to Sam’s room. He felt terrible for giving them such a shock and not staying to explain, but he wanted to see Sam before he did anything else. He could hear Hamfast saying, “Marigold, what’s the meaning of this?” as he knocked lightly on Sam’s door and entered the small room. Fortunately, Merry and Pippin had insisted on coming with him, so he left his cousins to do all the explaining. 

He found the healer with Sam and asked after his friend’s progress to take his mind off the shock of seeing Sam so battered. Marigold had warned him, but he was still not prepared for the sight. Camellia assured him Sam was healing quite well physically. What concerned her most now was Sam’s mental state. His melancholy had reached a dangerous peak. She did not typically give her patients such powerful sleeping draughts, but there had been no other way of calming him.

“Mr. Baggins is here now,” Hamfast said from the doorway. “That should do the trick. I don’t know what miracle brought you back to us, Mr. Baggins, but I’m mighty glad to see you.”

“And I’m glad to be back, Master Hamfast,” Frodo said. He sat in the chair by Sam’s bed and took his friend’s hand. “How did this happen? Marigold said something about an animal attack or a fight.”

“It was a fight, or my name ain’t Gamgee,” Hamfast said. “I might buy the back and rib as the result of an animal trampling, but he was chocked, plain as my nose by those bruises ‘round his neck. And that eye and lip are the result of well-placed punches if I know aught about such things.”

“Who was he fighting with, and why?” Frodo asked. 

Hamfast shook his head. “We don’t know, and Sam won’t say. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it again.”

“No one else walking around looking like him then?” Frodo said. He turned to the healer. “Have you treated someone else with similar injuries?”

Camellia shook her head. “I haven’t sir, sorry to say.”

“Whatever happened, my son’s not one to fight. He was attacked plain and simple, and he didn’t even get to defend himself is my guess,” Hamfast said. “Maybe you could get it out of him what happened, if you don’t mind Mr. Baggins. If he’ll tell anyone, it’ll be you. I’d really like to know who’s responsible for this. My belt’s been itching to lash the culprit.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Frodo promised. He did not typically condone violence, retaliatory or otherwise, but in this case he thought he could make an exception. 

The rest of the night had passed quickly. Camellia left, her services no longer needed for the moment. Dinner was served and then the Cottons said their good nights. Merry and Pippin came to see Sam for a few minutes before leaving as well, knowing Frodo would not leave Sam’s side for anything. Marigold and May administered more of the medicinal cream to Sam’s bruises, then cleaned up the kitchen and went to bed early. Hamfast stood out by the lane, happily composing an apology to Goodheart in his mind as he puffed peacefully on a pipe and gazed up at the stars and the shining full moon that blazed brilliantly overhead. Then he went to bed himself and Frodo was left alone watching Sam.

Sam had woken briefly once during the night, but the sleeping draught had not fully worn off and he was groggy and incoherent. Frodo helped him drink a cup of water when he woke and then hummed softly to him as he quickly drifted back to dreamless sleep. Frodo slept lightly in the chair and did not stir again until he heard Sam’s murmuring. 

“Tomorrow,” Sam said again, louder now. He blinked open his eyes and looked about the dim room, his unfocused gaze coming to rest on Frodo.

“Tom?” Sam said uncertainly. He blinked a few more times then rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He yawned widely and stretched his tired, aching limbs, then looked again at the blur sitting next to him. The blur slowly cleared, but he continued to blink. He could not be seeing correctly.

“Hullo Sam,” Frodo said with a smile. “I’m back.”

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam said in dazed wonder, then a horrified expression fell across his face. “Am I dead then?"

“What?” Frodo said. “No, Sam, you’re not dead and neither am I. We’re both alive and well. Well, maybe not well, but on the mend certainly.”

Sam blinked a few more times and looked at Frodo skeptically. “I don’t understand. The Master’s letter said you drowned. Was it a lie then? Was it a joke?”

“No, certainly not,” Frodo said, aghast at such a thought. “It was all a terrible misunderstanding, an accident that never should have happened.”

Sam struggled to sit up and Frodo reached over to help him. The contact unnerved the gardener terribly. He shied away from Frodo and continued to peer at him cautiously. He could not believe that this was real, but the pain as he moved told him he was both alive and awake. So this had to be real, didn’t it? Yet how could it be? It made no sense.

He studied Frodo closely. His master was slightly paler than the last time he saw him and maybe even a tad thinner, but other than that he looked the same. Except for a scar. Sam frowned at the mark. “You’ve been hurt,” he said automatically. “Are you all right sir?”

Frodo couldn’t help but laugh in amusement. “Really Sam, I should be asking you that. How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” Sam answered uncertainly, his frown deepening. He was still slightly groggy from the medicine, but his head was clear enough to know how impossible all this was. Despite everything telling him that he was awake, he could not help but think he had fallen asleep again. This was all so surreal; he felt as if he were in a waking dream. Yes, that was it. This was a strange sort of dream where everything sad comes untrue. How else could his master be here, talking to him as if it were an ordinary day? 

Frodo frowned himself now. His heart was breaking at the hesitation and doubt he saw in Sam’s eyes. This was so unlike his friend, who was always so easy-going and cheerful. More than before, he wanted to find out exactly what happened to Sam; this was more than just confusion at work. But before he could question Sam, he had some explaining to do himself.

He placed his hand over Sam’s, hoping to reassure him with the contact, glad at least that Sam did not pull away from the touch. “This is a long story,” Frodo said. “Is there anything you need before I start?”

Sam shook his head, so Frodo recalled his adventure, starting with the Feast. He did not leave out a single detail, except the ring of course. He included Bilbo and his plans to go to Rivendell, he even touched a bit on the dreams he had, and his conversation with Hazel and why he decided he had to come home. He explained everything that happened upon his return to the Shire, and how he learned that everyone thought he had perished in the flood. He hoped the more he explained, that the longer Sam had to absorb the story, the more Sam would believe it.

Sam listened attentively, looking back and forth between his master’s face and his hand carefully resting over his own. The touch was warm and light and completely familiar, and his master’s gentle voice filled the room with warmth, slowly melting away the doubt and fear that this was another cruel trick of his mind. A smile slowly crept onto his face and by the time Frodo got around to the day he left Brandy Hall, walking outside to find the entire Hall waiting to see him, he laughed at his master’s impersonation of the hobbit who had called out from the back of the crowd ‘He is alive! Doesn’t that beat all?’ 

“It does beat all,” Sam answered, accepting at last the miracle sitting before him. He beamed at Frodo, and there were tears of joy standing in his eyes. He would have drawn his master into a fierce embrace if he thought he could get away with it. He settled instead on grinning like a fool and placing his free hand over Frodo’s.

Frodo smiled in return, relief and cheer flooding his own eyes as he saw Sam’s acceptance at last. He quickly recounted his visit with the Bolgers and his stay at The Floating Log, and went on to his return home and Marigold’s visit to Bag End.

“Oh Sam, I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this,” Frodo finished. He squeezed Sam’s hand and was rewarded with a reassuring squeeze in return.

“It’s no concern now, sir. You’re back now and that’s all that matters,” Sam said, feeling like the luckiest hobbit to have ever lived. 

His beloved master had returned, beyond all hope, and everything would go back to normal. He didn’t have to go to Tighfield. He didn’t have to worry about serving Lotho. He could return to Bag End without fear or grief. He could slip quietly inside to cook first breakfast and wake his master from his sleep by throwing open the curtains and letting the light spill into the room. He could weed the gardens and sing some nonsense song and hear his master’s melodious voice join his own coarse one. He could rest from his work under the elm tree and Mr. Frodo would bring him out a glass of iced tea and discuss the plans for the gardens in the shade and puff lazily on a pipe.

Frodo’s smile brightened. Now this was the Sam he knew, happy and relaxed. “Still, I’m sorry all this had to happen. I learned a thing or two from it, so I suppose it wasn’t a complete waste. I never would have thought I would have been missed so much.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s rather silly to think you wouldn’t be missed,” Sam said. “I mean to say, you missed Mr. Bilbo and I’m sure he thought you’d be just fine and wouldn’t miss him all that much. And now it’s all these years later and you still miss him. Of course not having you here would make us sad. You belong here, sir. Home isn’t home without you. If it’s not too forward to say that.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Frodo said. “Thank you lad. It seems we’ve both learned some things, had our own adventures.”

Sam just nodded in agreement; he would agree to anything his master had to say. Then he laughed as a sudden realization struck him. 

“What is it?” Frodo asked.

“Our adventures ended up sort of the same, didn’t they sir? We both have broken ribs,” Sam said, “and we’ve both been knocked on the head. Do you think I’ll have a scar too?”

Frodo laughed now also. “I doubt it and mine will fade with time, but we do make quite a pair, don’t we? We could be twins.”

Sam crinkled his brow and looked at his master critically. “But, we’re not even related sir.”

“I know that, silly,” Frodo said and laughed again. Sam joined him this time, and they laughed simply for the joy of it, blissfully ignoring the pain to their sides.

“Now this is more like it,” May said from the doorway. She was smiling fondly at the scene, glad to have her brother back at last. “I hope you’re hungry, little brother. Marigold’s ready to cook up a feast looks like, but we need to know what you want to eat first.”

“Why?” Sam asked as he wiped away the tears in his eyes, chuckling softly still.

“It’s your birthday, Sam, or did you forget?” May said.

“It is?” he asked. Frodo nodded and May simply waited. “Well, in that case, I’d like some of those sweet berry tarts, buttermilk pancakes with sausage, eggs sunny-side up, apple juice and muffins smothered in strawberries and cream; and some mushroom omelets, hash browns and rosemary tea with honey for Mr. Frodo.”

“Is that all?”

“And bacon and some cantaloupe and cinnamon toast.”

“Coming right up,” May said and went to help Marigold with the cooking.

“That’s quite a breakfast Sam,” Frodo said, impressed with the order.

“I’m suddenly very hungry,” Sam said, feeling as though he hadn’t eaten properly in days.

“That’s good to hear,” Frodo said, “but you didn’t need to include me.”

“Of course I did. It wouldn’t be proper not to,” Sam said.

“I can always count on you to do what’s proper,” Frodo said, and saw this as a good opportunity to get some information of his own. “Now, about this fight you were in. Who did this to you Sam, and I don’t want any story about some animal you startled.”

The smile faded from Sam’s face. So, his father had not believed his lie after all. He lowered his head, trying to decide if he should tell or not. He had promised to say nothing, but he had never denied his master anything before.

“Sam, it’s not like you to fight,” Frodo said. “I don’t believe you started it, and as no one else has turned up with similar injuries, I know you didn’t fight back. At least tell me what happened.”

But Sam couldn’t even do that without giving away who had hurt him. “I’m sorry Mr. Frodo. I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

“One thing I learned from the last two weeks is that not all promises are meant to be kept, because they never should have been made in the first place,” Frodo said. He was not going to let Sam out of telling him what happened. He wanted to see justice just as much as Hamfast did. “I can understand you wanting to keep quiet if this was nothing more than a simple tussle, but this goes far beyond that. He choked you Sam. You have a broken rib because of him. Now who did this?”

“He didn’t mean it, sir,” Sam said. “He was grieving and folk can do strange things sometimes when they’re grieving. He’s let go his grief some, and I don’t think he’ll be a threat to anyone else.”

“How can you defend him?” Frodo asked.

“Because I understand how he feels,” Sam said. “In his position, I’d be just as angry.”

“Being angry and hurting someone are two completely different things,” Frodo said. “One does not lead directly to the other. Even if you do understand how he feels, that does not give him the right to do what he did. Now tell me who did this.”

“Please Mr. Frodo, I made a promise. Don’t make me lie to you.”

Frodo sat back and nodded, defeated for now. He would not give up on this though and would find out who did this no matter what it took. He had some information about the culprit at least, and even that little bit could point him in the right direction. He would wait until after breakfast before going up the Hill to retrieve his cousins and go into town.

Sam insisted on being allowed to eat first breakfast at the kitchen table. Together Hamfast and Frodo helped him to his chair and everyone watched him carefully for signs of fatigue, but he showed none. After the elaborate and delicious meal, Frodo helped Sam back to bed and kept him company until he drifted off to sleep and one of his sisters could take over the watch. He dismissed himself then with promises to return later.

“So, we’re looking for someone who’s grieving and angry, or was three days ago,” Merry said as they made their way down the Hill. “That should narrow it down.”

“How exactly do we go about finding this out Frodo?” Pippin asked.

“Oh, I imagine it should be easy enough for me to get information,” Frodo said. “Everyone will be more than happy to catch me up on the local gossip, hoping to get some gossip themselves in return. I may as well use my miraculous return from certain death to my advantage.”

Frodo was quite correct in his assumption of course. Hobbits were stopping him in the lane before they even reached the Bridge and they learned quite a lot of information, though none of it anything they could use. By the time they reached the marketplace, they had heard enough gossip to make their heads spin.

Once in the market, Frodo suggested starting with Farmer Goodheart, since fellows tended to gravitate toward his stall and they talked about all sorts of things they couldn’t speak of in front of their wives. This was a wise decision, as they learned within just half an hour of idle chatter about Lotho asking after Frodo just a couple of days before.

“Lotho’s returned from Sackville already?” Pippin asked. 

“Where is Lotho now?” Frodo asked.

“Bywater, locked up in his home, last I heard,” Goodheart said. “Ted was here just this morning, says Mr. Lotho’s been crying off and on the last couple of days, if you can believe that. Seems Mr. Otho died all of a sudden a few weeks back, and Mr. Lotho is just now coming to terms with it. None too soon, for I heard he was causing quite a stir down in Sackville, tearing things up, destroying property and whatnot.”

“Do you know if he’s had any contact with Sam Gamgee since he’s been back?” Merry asked.

Goodheart shrugged, confused by the seemingly unrelated topic. “Couldn’t say.”

“I saw him go up the Hill,” another farmer put in, “that same day as he was asking all them questions about you Mr. Baggins, and then again the morning after besides. If he went to Bag End, I reckon he would have run into Sam, wouldn’t he?”

The cousins waited until they were back up the Hill before saying anything.

“Well, the description fits like a glove,” Merry said. “Angry and grieving.”

“I know Lotho is a pompous lout,” Pippin said, “but to have done something like that? To Sam? Even he’s not that vile.”

“I don’t know. Grief can make you do extreme things,” Frodo said. He was trying not to let his own anger get the better of him, and he was failing miserably. He could guess now Sam’s reasoning for not saying anything. Lotho was in a position of authority, however small, and he no doubt coerced Sam into keeping quiet. Once Sam had given his word, he would never lightly break it. It frustrated Frodo not knowing exactly what happened, but all he really needed to know was that Sam had been hurt and Lotho was the cause of it. “I think I’m going to pay my dear cousin a visit.”

He waited until after elevenses to head into Bywater. He had not been to Lotho’s home very often over the years, but he could find it in the dark if need be, simply because he always avoided going near it if he could. He marched up to the door and pounded on it until he heard the lock slide open.

Lotho opened the door and the sight of him stunned Frodo enough that he forgot what he had planned to say. There were dark bags under Lotho’s bloodshot eyes. His hair was knotted and lank, and his clothes were rumpled and wrinkled. He yawned and stared at Frodo dully. “I heard you might be back,” he said lethargically. “I guess it was too good to be true that you were really gone. Far be it for me to ever be that lucky.”

“I heard you went up to Bag End,” Frodo said, making no effort to hide the anger in his voice. He held Lotho with his fiercest glare.

“So, the rat squeaked, did he?” Lotho said. “Not really surprised by that.”

“Shut up,” Frodo said savagely, and was surprised when Lotho complied rather than sneering another disdainful comment. “Sam said nothing, but you don’t cover your tracks very well. It was far too easy to figure out it was you.”

“To assume, you mean,” Lotho said.

“How could you?” Frodo continued as if Lotho had not spoken. “Sam wouldn’t hurt a soul and you nearly killed him. You should be banished for what you did.”

“I know,” Lotho said, surprising Frodo again by his apologetic tone. “I don’t know why I did it. I just – ”

“I don’t care why you did it,” Frodo cut him off. “You are not to lay another hand on Sam ever again. You are not to go anywhere near him. You will pay for the cost of the healer for as long as Sam needs her services and you will compensate him for any work he is unable to perform because of this. It is only out of Sam’s wishes that I will say nothing at this point, but if you put one more toe out of line, I will not hesitate to go to the Thain, and you will be marched to the bounds before you can even blink.”

Lotho nodded, accepting this without argument. “Very well. I’ll go see the healer after luncheon and I’ll send a stipend up to you tomorrow, since I’m not allowed contact with him directly. Any other edicts you would like to pass down from on high before you leave?”

“That will be all for now,” Frodo said, managing to keep some anger in his voice though Lotho’s easy compliance was making him feel rather lame. Until Lotho spoke again.

“Good,” Lotho said. “Now get off my property, or I’ll have to charge you with trespassing.”

“You have a lot of nerve to speak to me of trespassing,” Frodo spat in disgust.

“It’s not trespassing when the door’s wide open,” Lotho reasoned coolly. “You really should consider locking the doors when you go away Frodo. Anyone could just walk in and take whatever they want.”

“Whatever you took, you will return,” Frodo ordered.

“You like making assumptions, don’t you cousin? I assure you I took nothing.”

“We’ll see about that,” Frodo said and turned to leave before he could do anything foolish. 

He was at the gate before Lotho called after him to wait. “How is Sam?” he asked. “Will he be all right?”

“What do you care?” Frodo asked.

“Will he be all right?” Lotho asked again. There was genuine worry in his eyes and voice, and Frodo felt some of his anger ebb away. “I haven’t seen him about since. I went back to Bag End the day following but he wasn’t there. I haven’t heard anything. I was just wondering.” 

“He will be fine in time,” Frodo answered. “Thankfully for you, there is no permanent damage.”

“I’m glad,” Lotho said. “Tell him sorry for me. Tell him thank you also. I appreciate what he did for me, especially after what I did to him. No one’s ever been kind to me like that before.”

Frodo didn’t know what to say. This was the first he had ever seen Lotho acting like a caring, sympathetic hobbit and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. At length, he nodded. “I’ll tell him,” Frodo promised. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. It’s not easy losing a parent, especially so unexpectedly. Give your mother my regards.”

Lotho nodded obligingly and closed the door with a soft click, leaving Frodo standing by the gate, completely confounded. But Frodo did not linger long. He wanted to return to Bagshot Row before Sam could wake up. It had taken long enough to convince the lad that he was real this morning, it would do no good to have Sam wake up and think he dreamed the whole thing.

How the Gamgees and the Cottons had managed to organize a party on such short notice was beyond Frodo. The Party Field was strewn with lights and Sam’s friends were gathered around him, waiting for him to blow out the candles so they could cut the cake. He closed his eyes, made his wish, and blew the candles out in one attempt. May and Marigold began cutting the cake and handing out slices.

Sam had not been allowed to come up to the Party Field until the very last moment, and had spent the afternoon with Frodo, who was also not allowed to move about too much. Merry and Pippin had come down to keep them company – or keep an eye on them more like – and they had entertained their friends with various stories and songs. 

Not until all the preparations were made did Tom retrieve Sam and bring him to the Party Field, but even given that extra precaution, Sam was starting to show signs of wear. He insisted on staying until the cake was eaten at least, and he did not argue being confined to the table, for he had plenty of visitors throughout the evening. 

Sam thankfully had gifts for everyone, being one of those hobbits who liked to be prepared early. His sisters had helped him with the wrapping, and he handed them out as his friends stopped by to see him. He now had only one gift left. 

He had not been able to make the blackberry sweet bread with frosting for his master as he had planned. He would bake it eventually, once he could move about more easily and after Mr. Frodo’s cousins left, since that was the only way to ensure his master would actually be able to eat any of it. That wouldn’t be for another couple of weeks, so Sam had to think hard about what to give his master. The idea had come to him seemingly from nowhere and he had to be very sneaky about the whole affair, making it when Mr. Frodo and his cousins were in the kitchen preparing afternoon tea for him, which was entirely improper but couldn’t be helped as everyone else had gone to set up for the party.

Now Sam looked down at his gift, wondering if it was good enough for all he wanted to say, but he was nervous for more than just that. He also had a confession to make before his father could lecture him again. He was just trying to figure out how he would be able to find his master if he wasn’t allowed out of his seat, when Frodo showed up at his side and sat down. 

“Having fun, Sam?” he asked.

“Oh, I am indeed Mr. Frodo,” Sam answered, then turned serious. “Mr. Frodo, I have something to confess to you and I’m hoping you won’t get mad or think what I did was improper, because I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Whatever could you have done Sam?” Frodo asked, alarmed at the agitation in Sam’s voice.

“Well, sir, I came to work one day shortly after you left and found the front door wide open. Now, I know for a fact I locked that door, but there it was sitting open all the same. I thought I had heard something inside, like an intruder or whatnot. Anyway, I went in to have a look round. I didn’t find anything of course, but Gaffer said I had to tell you I was sneaking. If that wasn’t bad enough, I did it a second time on top of that, but that time I thought it was you. I guess that’s what you’d call ironic. Anyway, I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to enter your home without leave.”

Frodo relaxed and laughed softly. “You had me worried Sam. I thought it was something serious. Of course I’m not angry. You’re more than welcome to go into Bag End whenever you wish, especially if you think there’s something amiss. Thank you for looking out for it while I was gone. It is quite out of your duties however.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said and waited for his punishment.

“Well, I shall have to compensate you accordingly then. Twice you said? That’s worth two silver pennies I think. I’ll bring your pay down in the morning.”

“What?” Sam said, his head snapping up. “That’s far too much coin sir, I couldn’t accept that…”

“Sam, it’s my decision what I pay you,” Frodo said, in a tone that would brook no argument.

“Yes sir,” Sam agreed, knowing already what his father would have to say about this unexpected development. He smiled softly; things really had returned to normal.

Frodo noticed Sam’s smile and knew what he was thinking. He also knew Hamfast would just have to accept it. “How did you get the door locked up again?” Frodo asked now, returning to the topic at hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the door was locked when I arrived home.”

“Oh, well it’s been doing that,” Sam said. “Locking and unlocking again. I had the locksmith out here at one point, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with it. Still, he said he’d replace the latch if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Frodo said. Then hoping for an answer to the location of his ring, he looked about to make sure no one was within earshot and asked, “Are you certain you didn’t find anything during your inspections though? I think I forgot something here the day I left, a ring maybe.”

Sam nodded. “Oh aye, sir,” he affirmed. “I did find a strange little ring and put it in your study on your desk.”

“But it’s not there now,” Frodo said. “Are you certain that’s where you put it?”

“Without a doubt,” Sam said, then paused to think. His memory of that night with Lotho was still foggy but he did his best to retrace his steps. After Lotho had left, he had cleaned up the mess and then he had put out the fires and the candles. He had picked up the candle sitting in the hallway outside the study where Lotho had let it drop, and then… “I moved it,” Sam said, remembering finally. “I hid it.”

“You hid it? Why? Where? And please tell me no one else knows about it. It’s important that it remains a secret,” Frodo said fervently. 

Sam stared down at his hands, knowing he would have to break his promise after all. “Well, I didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“But?”

“But I think Mr. Lotho might have seen it, and I didn’t want him getting his hands on it. Didn’t seem like that would be a very good thing for some reason. So I hid it in the compost heap. I figured it’d be the last place he’d ever look for it, and if he did it’d be sort of like a needle in a hay stack.”

“Please tell me you have a way of finding it again,” Frodo said, ignoring for now the dreaded news that Lotho knew about the ring. He was tempted to tell Sam then that he knew what Lotho had done and he could tell Sam was waiting for just such an announcement, but he did not want to ruin Sam’s birthday. There would be plenty of time to talk about it later. Right now, his main concern was getting the ring back.

“I can find it easily enough,” Sam said. “I’ll show you.”

Frodo and Sam snuck away from the party, up to Bag End and around the smial to the back of the garden. Sam pointed to the middle mound of compost. “It’s chained to that there stick, the one that’s leaning out of the pile halfway down. Just pull it up. I’d do it myself but…”

“But what?” Frodo asked. He stepped up to the mound and began pulling out the stick.

“Well, I know it sounds silly, but I don’t think it likes me very much.”

Frodo laughed. “Sam, it’s a ring.” He pulled the stick free and sure enough, hanging from a chain wrapped tightly near the bottom was Bilbo’s ring. Frodo sighed with relief and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it and the chain clean. “There you are,” he muttered quietly. He untangled the chain and held the ring tightly in his fist. He opened up his hand and looked at it bemusedly. “You’ve caused an awful lot of trouble for such a little thing. Well, you won’t be getting away from me again.” He clipped the chain to his belt loop and tucked the ring safely into his pocket.

With that worry now out of the way, he beckoned Sam to follow him to the top of the Hill so they could watch the festivities from afar. 

“I knew I was forgetting to do something up here,” Sam said when he saw the downed oak branch still sitting on the ground where it had fallen during the storm. “I’ll get that chopped up for you Mr. Frodo, as soon as the healer says I can anyway.”

“I like it,” Frodo said and found a comfortable place to sit upon it. Sam sat next to him and together they watched the hobbits in the Party Field. “How long until they notice we’re missing?”

“I give them a minute, if that. Five before they find us,” Sam said. 

“We better make our stolen freedom count then,” Frodo said, a mischievous note to his voice. “What say we climb to the very top of this tree and hang upside down by our ankles? Do you think that will give them a stir?”

This was an old game of theirs, from when they were younger and Sam often wanted to do things his father would never let him get away with. Frodo had figured there was no harm in at least pretending to do those things, and they would sit for hours coming up with all sorts of ideas and scenarios. 

“It’ll give them a stir right enough, and it’ll get us locked in our rooms for a week, so I think I’ll pass if you don’t mind,” Sam answered. “If you have a sling shot, we could pick some berries and aim them at anyone who comes close enough. We could get four or five of them at least before we’re caught.”

“Unfortunately my sling shot is broken,” Frodo said.

“That is a shame,” Sam intoned. “I suppose we could just make up conversations for people. Like, what do you reckon Mr. Pippin is saying to Mr. Merry right now?”

Frodo found his cousins standing near the cake and laughed. “That’s far too easy. He’s saying, ‘But Merry, it’s already cut, we’re supposed to eat it.’”

“And Mr. Merry’s saying, ‘Now, Pip, you’ve already had five pieces and you know your father will strangle me if I let you come home all hyper-like and keep us up all night.’”

Frodo burst into laughter, out of shock more than anything else. It wasn’t often Sam would allow himself to be cheeky about his ‘betters’ but Frodo always delighted in it when he did. He shook his head fondly and draped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Oh, Sam, I do believe I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

Sam chuckled shyly. “I won’t say anything if you won’t.”

“My lips are sealed,” Frodo promised. 

There was a slight pause in which they enjoyed the simple peace and tranquility of their temporary hideaway, then Sam said, “I was dreaming this morning about the first birthday party I invited you to. I was so nervous to ask you, and so happy when you said you’d come.”

“I remember that party,” Frodo said. “I almost changed my mind about going though.”

“You did? Why?”

“I never told you, but the day my parents died was the exact same day that you were born,” Frodo revealed. “Your birthday is the anniversary of their death. I usually spent this day curled up alone, hiding somewhere in Buckland, in this one place my mother and I used to go to all the time, to watch my father at his work. That was part of the reason Saradoc and Esmeralda sent me to stay here with Bilbo that spring, and all the ones that followed, until I moved in with him. They hoped it would help with the grief, but I wasn’t so certain it would. Then you asked me to attend your party and you were so excited about it, I couldn’t say no. To my surprise, I actually found myself looking forward to that day instead of dreading it.”

“I did that?” Sam asked.

“You did,” Frodo said. “So it seems we did each other a favor that day.”

“It’s like we were meant to help each other,” Sam said.

Frodo smiled. “Yes, I do believe you’re right. … Do you ever miss your mother Sam?”

“Sometimes,” Sam said. “I don’t really remember her all that well. I wasn’t even four when she died. There are times I wish she were here. Just simple things really, like when I try a new receipt, or when I hear a young mother humming a song to her bairn that Mama used to sing to me, or when I notice Gaffer’s sad with missing her. 

“I know May misses her, especially right now, what with the wedding and all. She’d much rather have Mama around than have to rely on her friends and their mothers for help, though I don’t think it’s as hard for her as it was for Daisy. I think even Marigold misses her in a way. She never knew Mama at all and I think that’s why she’s so unsure of herself sometimes. She’s been more confident since she and Tom got promised.”

“They’re promised?” Frodo asked in surprise. He spotted Marigold sitting with Rosie and Tom at one of the tables below and noticed that she did seem more relaxed and jubilant than she did before. “They make a fine match. I’ll have to congratulate them when next I get the chance. How are things going with Rosie? I saw her at your home last night.”

Sam blushed shyly. “Well enough I suppose. It’s not really anything serious.”

“No talk of marriage and children yet then?” Frodo teased.

Sam’s blush deepened. He chuckled softly and gave a small shrug. “Oh, no, it’s far too early to be thinking about all that. Do you think you’ll ever get married Mr. Frodo, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Now it was Frodo’s turn to shrug. “Maybe, one day, I might eventually settle down. I would like to have children. Lots of them.”

“Six is a good, round number I think,” Sam commented. “Three lads and three lasses, if you can manage it that way.”

“No, I would want more than that. Ten at least.”

“Ten?” Sam said.

Frodo looked up at the full, round moon hanging overhead, glowing bright and bathing them in gentle silvery-blue. “Or maybe thirteen, one for each full moon.”

Sam looked up at the moon and shook his head warily. “I don’t know, Mr. Frodo. That’s an awful lot of children.”

“Exactly.”

Someone behind them cleared their throat then and Frodo looked back to see Merry and Pippin standing there with their arms crossed. They were giving him that look that meant they thought he was overexerting himself and he was almost tired enough to agree. Almost.

“Hello Merry, Pip. Did you enjoy your cake?” Frodo asked innocently and saw Sam struggle to keep from snickering.

“We did, thank you,” Merry said, unaware of the tease.

“I would have if I had been allowed to eat any,” Pippin complained, and now both Frodo and Sam were struggling to maintain their composure.

“What do you mean been allowed?” Merry admonished. “You had three pieces already! You know how you get and your father is going to…”

But whatever Paladin was going to do, Merry never had a chance to say for it was at that moment that Frodo and Sam lost their battle and burst into renewed laughter. Frodo laughed more freely than Sam, who was valiantly trying not to laugh and failing miserably. Merry and Pippin simply stared at them, flabbergasted by their behavior.

“What’s so funny?” Merry asked.

“Well, will you look at the time? I do believe it’s past my curfew,” Frodo said through stifled chuckles. He stood up, wiping tears from his eyes. “Good night lads. Happy birthday Sam. I don’t expect to see you at Bag End for at least another week, and then it will be only light work, inside. I won’t have you doing anything strenuous on that rib.”

“Yes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam agreed, his own chuckles now under control, though he still could not wipe the grin off his face. Then he remembered his gift. “Mr. Frodo, wait. I have something for you. I’ve never tried my hand at writing anything before, so I don’t know how good it is, but I mean every word of it.” He handed Frodo a sealed piece of parchment. “I hope you won’t think it improper.”

Frodo took the gift and smiled warmly. “I’m sure that it will be lovely. Thank you lad.”

“Good night Mr. Frodo.”

Sam watched his master head down the Hill and looked up at Merry and Pippin, who were gazing down at him questioningly. Finally, Merry spoke. “Goodness, Sam, what was all that about?”

“Nothing, Mr. Merry, just a private joke so to speak,” Sam said with a grin, not really wanting to get into an explanation at the moment.

“Very well then,” Merry said. “Your father wants you to come down. It’s time for you to be turning in as well.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be down shortly.”

“It’s good to see you feeling better Sam,” Pippin said. 

“Thank you Mr. Pippin.”

“Good night Sam,” they said. “Happy birthday.”

They turned and left just as quietly and quickly as they had come. They reappeared again a minute later in the Party Field, and Sam could see them pointing Hamfast in his direction. He knew he would only be allowed another minute of peace before being sent for again.

He sighed contentedly and stood up easily. He made his way slowly down the path to the lane, whistling softly, planning already what he would do tomorrow. He had to deliver those jars of marmalade to Mr. Frodo and then he might as well help his sisters with their work. Then maybe he would go fishing. That wasn’t strenuous.

He smiled up at the beaming full moon and waved at Eärendil’s star, still reveling in his luck at having his master back. Everything sad had come untrue and that was the best gift Sam could ever hope for. This was a very happy birthday indeed.

To be concluded…